


Kiss It Better

by HoneyGrunge



Series: Grunkles/Reader Smutty Adventures [1]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Daddy Kink, Developing Relationship, F/M, First fic of 2020 WOOT, Fluff, Insecurity, Light BDSM, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Old man fuckers unite!, Older Man/Younger Woman, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Reader-Insert, Rough Sex, Self-Indulgent, Smut, Tenderness, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:21:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22106221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HoneyGrunge/pseuds/HoneyGrunge
Summary: Who knew all it took was falling ill with an eye infection to get into Mr. Mystery's pants.CW: brief description of an eye infection
Relationships: Stan Pines/Reader
Series: Grunkles/Reader Smutty Adventures [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1597507
Comments: 12
Kudos: 172





	1. The Next Lazy Susan?

**Author's Note:**

> So I just started watching Gravity Falls (yes I live under a rock, feel free to judge me) and I have the mother of all crushes on Grunkles Stan and Ford. Especially Stan. He is adorable and I have no shame.
> 
> I also got a very bad eye infection this week so I'm honestly just writing this for some cathartic comfort. Please enjoy this totally indulgent fic!

You stare into the mirror, antibiotic drops clutched in one hand and a tissue crumpled in the other. It had been unexpectedly difficult to apply the medicine: either your eyelids kept fluttering shut or the drops missed their mark entirely, only to dribble down your chin as infuriating doppelganger tears. Your reflection stares back at you, worrisome to say the least. The vast majority of your eye is a deep blood-red due to a subconjunctival hemorrhage triggered by the severe infection. Not to mention that lack of sleep from the pain means your undereyes have reached crypt keeper status.

In all honesty, you're starting to look more like one of the many mythological oddities of Gravity Falls than an actual human being.

You know you should probably call off work again; after all, it's not like Stan would really care. He's a gruff old man, to be sure, but ever since you've become his main (and only in a long while, you know for a fact) squeeze he's been a pushover through and through. Giving you paid breaks, which you joked were still work since he'd often whine until you caved for some necking. Taking you to lunch every day, conning the town department stores out of house and home to bring you lovely gifts...everyone in the Mystery Shack has gotta know what's up by now. Even that adorable little head-in-the-clouds great niece of his, Mabel. Truth be told, they all just seem to appreciate how Stan's shed his grumpy edge these past few months since you've been around.

But that's just the thing: it's only been a few months.

And in those few months, you've definitely heard the stories of Lazy Susan. The greasy spoon waitress that had preceded you, and the one that Stan had dropped in the middle of a date for "looking weird" up close. And if any word could describe your appearance right now and possibly even for the next month, it would be "weird".

Sighing, you snatch your car keys and hurry out the door, determined to show up even if you don't feel like it. There's bills to pay, and hearing that old sheister's obnoxious laugh as he swindled some tourists could really do your nerves some good. It'll take your mind off the possibility of blindness, at least. And maybe some good ol' vitamin D could boost your immune system...

You blush at your own joke; although he's been obvious in his non-platonic interest, Stan hasn't initiated anything directly sexual. Anything beyond kisses and chaste cuddles seems off limits with him, for one reason or another. And you haven't pushed, unsure of his reasons and more than satisfied to just spend all this time with him. 

The Shack is busy when you pull in so you're forced to park around back, checking yourself in the mirror to make sure your hair at least looks presentable. Then a brief moment to steel yourself and you're heading inside, pushing the back door open only to run right into the redhead teen that runs the cash register: Wendy.

"Oh hey- oh....oh man Stan said you called in sick for an eye infection, god that looks painful," she gasps, giving you the 'damn am I glad I'm not you' look. "You sure you're feeling good enough to work?"

"Yeah, I'm good. It doesn't hurt all that much now, really," you reassure, squeezing past her and making your way towards Stan's office. "Gotta make sure I have a couple pennies to rub together, anyway."

You hurry before she can pin you down for a conversation, trying to avoid as many people as possible on your quest for the right door. Finally, you're in the front room, ducking into Stan's office to toss your bag onto his desk. He's not there, which is to be expected. With this many tourists he'll be out there raking in the dough. Already starting to feel useless, you sit in his chair and scoot towards the stack of bank papers he's left out for you. But you can't focus no matter how hard you try; faint remnants of his musky scent are everywhere, and the sheer comfort of it has you desperate just to be close to him after the anxiety of the past couple days. Almost as if on cue his familiar voice echoes through the cracked door, seeing off one load of sightseers and getting ready for another tour.

"Don't you forget to pick up some souvenirs, they'll be worth a fortune later!"

You sit up, scurrying towards the door and pulling it open, spotting him across the room and unable to help the small smile that tugs at the corner of your mouth. Trying to crush your anxiety of rejection, you walk up behind him, keen on a surprise.

"Hey there Mr. Mystery," you whisper. He whirls, a massive cheshire-cat grin splitting his stubbly face...until he notices the eye.

"Sweet Moses, babydoll! You look like hell."

As his shocked stare bores into you so does a newfound self consciousness. It swells and swells until tears threaten your composure. He notices, a guilty and apologetic look washing over his usually hardened face. "Aw no, I didn't mean anything bad toots, I ju-"

You're already running away, seeking solace in his office. He sometimes complains about women and their "moods" so you expect and hope that he'll leave you alone for a while, distracted by all the walking, talking wallets ready to fork over their extra cash.

But you've no such luck.

His foot keeps the door from closing; a sharp grunt escapes him as you accidentally smash his foot in your haste.

"Sweetheart, come on, you know I'm not THAT much of an asshole, I wasn't saying you were ugly at all!" he tries to reassure, forcing his way inside while you plop down into his chair.

"Well you meant to be an asshole to Lazy Susan, didn't you?" you hiss, unable to help yourself. "For all I know you DO prefer your women like dolls: perfect and pretty. Maybe you like to throw them away when you're done with them or realize they're DEFECTIVE."

A helpless pallor has taken over his handsome features, giving him a lost puppy look as all his usual con-man confidence seems to bleed out the bottoms of his feet and down through the rickety old floorboards. His askew fez only adds to the defeated effect and you start to regret the vicious outburst.

"Sweetheart, I...did Soos tell you that? That's not why I stopped seeing Susan. She's a goddamn weirdo and wouldn't let me have any down time. She kept callin' me when Baby Fights was on - you KNOW I need my Baby Fights every night!! Yeah I wasn't as into her looks as I thought I'd be but that's not the reason I dumped her, it was just the final straw."

Your cheeks burn with shame. After how nice he's been to you, and you repay him like this? Like a spoiled brat?

"I'm sorry," you mumble, cheeks turning an even deeper hue when Stan moves closer. "You're just, I mean I really really like you and look forward to seeing you and I was scared that you might find someone else if you saw my eye."

"Oh baby," he grumbles, leaning in close to plant a kiss on the top of your head. "I almost got a cap popped in my ass to get that one jacket of yours, you REALLY think I'm gonna just drop ya like a hot potato? I mean, I been scared too you know. How often does a beautiful young woman get interested in an ugly old fart like me? I just knew I was gonna ruin it somehow, between my hairy back, beer gut, and nuclear IBS."

You roll your eyes and giggle as he pats his stomach, relief flooding your chest as you realize that he's definitely more dedicated to this, whatever it is, than you'd expected. 

"Nah, I can deal with the stink if it means getting to hang off those guns when we go to lunch every day," you tease, and now it's his turn to blush. "And come on, your belly's sexy. It's called a dadbod; trust me, lots of women like it."

He's staring, not seeming to actually absorb what you're saying. He's noticeably stiffened, insecurity flashing in the bright eyes hidden beneath those coke-bottle glasses. "...sexy?"

"...well yeah, I like it when a guy's got a tummy."

"Damn I uh, I didn't even know you'd seen it," he chuckles, gesturing back to his now flat stomach, held in by his girdle. "Guess I forgot that one time you stopped by to drop off some Pitt after closing."

It's silent for a few moments, Stan glancing at you and looking unsure of what to say next.

"Stan...I wanna make love to you," you boldly whisper, reveling in the way his eyes widen.

"Jesus," he weakly breathes, definitely looking intimidated now. He shifts on the edge of the desk, looking crestfallen. "Sugar, you have no idea how much I've wanted that, ever since I first saw you. I just never made a move 'cuz I didn't wanna be creepy, y'know?" He pauses, swallowing hard. "And I'm-I'm sorry to ruin the moment but...I gotta take some pills for that, doll. They uh, they take some time to work. I mean, not too long though, y'know? I got some a while back, just in case anything happened with Susan. Guess that's the only good thing that came outta that experience," he chuckles nervously, his rambling finally ceasing when you stand to cut him off with a passionate kiss. 

His lips are soft as always, stiff in surprise for a split second but soon dominating yours as a thick, strong hand comes down on your ass and pushes you against his leg. He practically rumbles against you, touch-needy and quickly getting drunk on your desire. You break off the kiss, panting and pulling away. You'd forgotten about your eye being infectious in the heat of the moment, but Stan doesn't seem to give two shits with the way he swears and pushes in for another kiss.

"Get ready and I'll go to your room," you breathe, allowing him to push in against your throat, knocking his fez off in the process. You nearly faint when you see his thick grey hair; it's all you can do to keep yourself from running your fingers through it right then and there. "Wait - where IS your room?"

"Third door on the right," he guides, rushing over to the cabinets to fetch the medication. "Try not to judge me too much on the mess. I'm an old man, my back hurts too much to clean."

"Guess I should be careful with those fragile hips of yours then, huh?" you tease. He fixes you with a glare of sexual starvation and you know you're REALLY in for it now. Screw making love, fucking like wild animals is seeming more and more likely as your banter escalates.

You turn on your heel and head out the door, giving Stan's great nephew Dipper an innocent wave just as the older man calls out for him.

"Dipper! You're in charge of the Shack for now. I gotta go take care of something."

Dipper's gaze shifts back to you with a look of knowing horror; you don't think you've ever seen a kid more grossed out in your entire life. You shrug and finally head down the hallway, biting your lip to keep from laughing. The kids are too smart to act like there's nothing going on.

Maybe you'll get him a new installment of his favorite mystery book series to make up for it later...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr and Twitter: Maedhros36
> 
> I hope you enjoy! <33


	2. Mystery's Meat

Curiosity and excitement bubble in your chest as you make your way down the hallway to the door of Stan's bedroom. The colorful signs plastered everywhere elicit an affectionate smile: he's such a kook. A perfect and eccentric mixture of gruffness, humor, and cheese grater-esque charm.

You crack open the door and peer inside, pleasantly surprised despite his warning. It's a comfy room, the kind of room to spend a blustery winter's day in with the wood stove packed full, a good show on the tv, and a warm man snoring next to you. The thought has you daydreaming, pausing in the doorway as you lose yourself in the possibilities. Will this still be a thing in winter? Is Stan the type of guy who's down for an actual relationship with a younger woman, or it it always short-lived with him?

"Stop overthinking, christ," you mutter to yourself, making your way inside and clicking the door shut behind you. Overthinking breeds anxiety, and you've already got enough of that pinballing around in your stomach as it is. So you decide on some exploration, a sly smirk slipping across your features when a dirty thought pings into existence.

Does Stan jack off with digital porn, or is he a traditional mag dude? 

You check under the mattress first, disappointed when all you find is a pair of lost old boxers and a small collection of Pitt cola tabs. Huffing, you cross your arms, noting how pleasantly strong his unique smell is here and eyeing the room for any other good hiding spots. But your hunt is cut short when the doorknob clicks and there appears Stan, looking smug yet anxious at the same time. His fez is gone, probably still on the floor of his office, totally forgotten in his haste to join you.

"I was just doing some exploring," you tease, crossing your arms and trying to look aloof. "A girl's gotta know what her man whacks off to."

Stan locks the door, raising a wiry brow and letting out a dirty chuckle. "Her man, huh?"

"Yeah, did I stutter?" you tease, standing your ground when he advances into your personal bubble. He's tall, tall enough to loom over you even with his bad posture. The height difference makes you bite your lip and lean into his presence, aching for another kiss.

"I don't remember you asking me to be your man," he purrs, and you shiver. 

You've never heard his voice like this before.

"I just did, moron."

And with that you uncross your arms to slip them up onto his suited shoulders. He hums and rests his huge hands on your hips, lowering his head to greet your softness with his hard-worn grit. It's a shallow peck, since neither of you are eager to waste time on anything but the main course. He slips his lips up onto your forehead, directly above your affected eye.

"Mmm...yeah, I'd really have to be a damn moron to say no to a lady like you."

"Huh, well if you can't say no, how about letting me see that dick?"

He chokes on air, breaking into a hefty guffaw and squeezing your waist as he guides you over to the cozy looking, unmade bed. "I'm sure all the other women of Gravity Falls have filled you in on my legendary Mystery Meat."

"Ewww," you scoff, smacking his arm and sitting on the edge of the mattress. "MYSTERY MEAT? Really?? You seriously know how to make a girl wet, I'll give you that," you grumble, fighting a smile when he nuzzles your temple.

"Anything for you, babydoll," he consents, sitting next to you and kicking off his dress shoes. "Listen, this isn't gonna be about me though. You don't gotta, you know..." he trails off, looking insecure again.

"Don't gotta what?" you probe, resting a hand on his still pleasantly firm thigh.

"You don't gotta worry about impressin' me, that's all. I'm a freakin' loser sweetheart, I know that. I haven't uh...I haven't fucked anyone in a long while now. Just kinda gave up on it and focused on the Shack and then the kids after I settled down here. I'll probably be pretty rusty and I just wanna focus on you, that's all."

"Stanley Pines," you growl, shifting closer to him, reaching over to start unbuttoning his suit jacket. "You ever call yourself a loser again and I'm busting your sexy balls."

"Careful babe, I can only get SO hard," he quips right back, flinching when you playfully jab at his exposed throat. Although you could both go on like this all day, the dilly dallying is getting old. You can feel your pulse in the eager ache between your legs, and Stan just can't stop glancing down at your breasts. Soon you have his entire jacket undone, tugging it down over his muscular arms to expose his tank. Normally he'd wear a proper dress shirt underneath the jacket but it's just too hot outside to bother with that today. He's just a little sweaty from running the tours, but if the Shack has anything going for it it's the arctic-level AC to ward off the humidity.

"God," you groan, running a hand over his hairy forearm and gasping when he starts to manhandle you. He yanks your shirt up roughly but not overly so, pausing to make eye contact and pose a sincere question. 

"May I?"

"Please," you whimper, lifting your arms to ease his task. As soon as the shirt has been flung to the side Stan moans, reaching over to carress the top of your left breast with a slightly calloused finger. "Holy shit, doll."

Squirming closer until you're practically on his lap, you return the favor by slipping a hand down to the zipper of his pants. You tug at it, reveling in the sharp sound of the zipper slicing through the heated silence. Stan shifts, pushing the pants down to reveal his modest boxers. The bottom of his girdle is exposed now, and a quick glance up at his face reveals a deep blush. 

"Lemme get that for you, daddy," you whisper, nipping at his shoulder and gauging his reaction to the title.

"Holy FUCK," he spits, hand falling to your knee and squeezing hard enough to dig his trimmed nails into your skin through your pants, making you squeak. "You're a nasty slut, I love it."

"I thought you would." You struggle with the bindings of the brace but make quick work of it once you solve the pattern of the clips, freeing his paunch and triggering a sigh of relaxation.

"Awwwww yeah, that's better," he grunts, jumping when your hand plunges down into the waistband of his boxers to cup his (deliciously heavy) balls. "FUCK you gotta warm your hands before you do that, toots! Or at least warn a guy!"

"Sorry," you offer, running your fingers through wiry and plentiful pubic hair until goosebumps rise all over his arms and legs. "Y'know I've wondered so much about what you look like. Whether you're cut or uncut, longer or fatter...."

You hadn't meant for the confession to make him get nervous, but it obviously does. He flushes again, looking a little uncomfortable. "Really now? You got certain preferences?"

"Not when it comes to you, daddy. I know I'll wanna fuck the shit outta you no matter what you got down there," you reassure, watching confidence trickle back into him in the form of a sly grin. As your hand slips down his now slightly hard shaft, his big masculine hand slides up your back and expertly unclips your bra. Then that same hand is fondling your breast, gently kneading and going right for the kill: rolling your nipple between two warm fingers.

"Stan!" you gasp, burying your face in his chest and smiling to yourself in satisfaction as your wandering fingers discover the answer to one of your questions. And as for his size, even mostly soft he's still quite big. Maybe around a good 6 inches so far, give or take.

"Fuck, sweetheart, god you're so goddamn soft," he almost sobs, grabbing you and hauling you up to straddle his left thigh. You're jerking him off now, rhythmically tugging and squeezing, determined to get him hard as fast as possible. And it seems to be working: he's already a little thicker, cock twitching eagerly under your ministrations. With some good foreplay he should be ready sooner than you'd expected. "Fuck, fuck, FUCK."

Suddenly your sense of space is disoriented, ripping a sharp yelp out of you. Stan's taken over full control, easily tossing you off of himself and into the bed. He climbs over you, attacking you by showering kisses all over your collarbones and breasts. He's sucking, squeezing, nipping, even full-on biting you, wedging a knee down between your still clothed legs.

"I just wouldn't be a gentleman if I let you have all the fun first," he murmurs, pausing to nuzzle up under the soft swell of your left breast and plant a kiss beneath it. "You want daddy to lick your pussy?"

"Please, please daddy," you breathe, letting your legs fall open in a wanton display of surrender. Stan moves fast, tugging your pants down your legs and flinging them, falling down onto his elbows and burying his prominent nose into your panties without preamble.

"Ah!" you cry, reaching down to grab two fistfuls of his hair as he begins to stimulate you through your panties. The pressure of his tongue dances over your thoroughly soaked heat and threatens to make a whimper spill from your kiss-plumped lips; a sudden lick over your clit breaks the dam loose and soon you're a begging, squirming mess. Once he's satisfied that you've been teased to near madness your panties are pulled off too, leaving you completely bare to his hungry gaze.

"Shit, you're a full-course meal, babydoll."

And with that he descends again, one hand coming up to push your thigh even further open and the other moving up to toy with a hardened nipple. Time loses meaning as you lose yourself in the pleasure. But after a while you realize with a frown that he seems to be purposefully avoiding your clit.

"You fucking tease," you accuse, bucking against his mouth as he slips his tongue between your lips. He smirks into your overheated, slick skin, wiggling his thick tongue in a thoroughly deviant manner.

"Just preppin' ya for the main event, toots."

"Just finger me already!" you demand, fully prepared to throw a hissy fit if he refuses. But instead of continuing he stops cold turkey, pushing away and steadying himself on his knees.

"Oh my God," you weakly praise, eyes widening at the now much thicker and long-awaited erection that's slipped through the piss slit of his boxers while he ate you out. He pushes the boxers down and you whine out your desire, so needy after all these months of touching yourself and imagining him buried deep inside your warm, clutching silk.

"You like it? You think daddy's cock is sexy?" he rasps, licking his lips and reaching down to pump himself.

"YES!" you gasp, sitting up and moving to take him into your mouth. But a steady hand stops you by your throat, fingers gently closing and effectively stopping you.

"Nuh-uh, you gotta beg. Tell me how much you need to cum on this thick cock."

"Please daddy, please fucking PLEASE I need your dick in my pussy right nowwww," you whine, sucking a thick finger into your mouth and giving him your best doe eyes.

"You want me to cum all over those tits? Your ass? You gotta tell daddy what you want, sugar," he purrs once again, pulling his thumb out to rub it across your bottom lip.

"I want you to fuck me into oblivion and cum wherever you want," you breathe, and that's it. He can't wait any longer. Stan pushes you down into the mattress and pins you beneath his muscled weight, chuckling when you desperately hump up against his leaky cockhead. "Patience is a virtue, toots."

"FUCK you!"

"Gladly," he fires back, reaching down to steady himself against your core. Then his hips jerk and suddenly you're half filled, stretched to the point of near discomfort. You gasp and Stan breathes a dirty hum close to your ear, stubble scratching across your forehead as he thrusts again and this time goes balls deep.

"Shit, doll, kitten, you're so fucking tight," he pants, anchoring his knees into the mattress when your legs wrap around his hips and ass. His soft belly pushes against yours and you reach down to stroke it, simultaneously running your lips over his gold chain.

"You're perfect, daddy. Perfect."

There are no coherent words after that. Stan starts off slow to let you adjust but then he's fucking you down into the mattress as if his life depends on it, panting and cussing and groaning to match your moans and wails. You don't care if anyone hears you, family or stranger. All that matters is the feel of his rough thrusts, his dick slipping against all of your most sensitive spots until you feel the telltale sign of an orgasm.

"S-stan! I'm close!" you cry, reaching down to rub yourself as a droplet of his sweat drips down onto your throat. But your hand is knocked out of the way and replaced by his, his now hoarse voice asking you to teach him just how fast or slow to rub you, and how much pressure you want. He fumbles for a few thrusts but then finds a rhythm, groaning out your name and gasping that he's cumming too, oh God he's gonna cum so hard, it just feels too good.

Then there's stars, your orgasm hitting you like a runaway train and forcing you to wildly buck up into his now erratic thrusts. His mouth crashes down into yours to stifle the choked scream that escapes you, his fingers rubbing and rubbing until you sob for him to stop, that it's too much.

"Doll, baby, I'm there, I'm cumming, I-" he cries, pushing himself up and off of you, sitting up on his knees and reaching down to cup his sex-tightened balls while he jerks himself to orgasm.

The spurts are thick, painting you with creamy stripes and droplets. His mouth is hanging open, twisted into a near-grimace of ecstasy. His thighs are spasming and he's bucking into his own fist, staring wide-eyed down at you as you open your mouth and lean forward to catch the last couple pulses. Your lips close over his cockhead and his abdomen tightens, his teeth gritted at the overstimulation.

"Ah, shit," he weakly breathes, finally pushing you away and literally collapsing next to you. He sprawls wide, panting and struggling to catch his breath. "That...was the best fuck...I ever had."

"Ditto," you agree, nuzzling up to him and pushing your nose into his now sweaty thatch of hair. He shifts, pulling you closer and tugging your leg up over his until you're half laying on him.

"Can't believe we didn't do this sooner," he sighs, reaching up to thumb your chin and pull your face close. He's tender now, rubbing circles into your cheek and placing kisses all around your eye. You blush at the attention, snuggling as deep as possible into him and losing yourself in the moment. 

"We'll just have to make up for lost time then," you whisper, fiddling with his chain.

"I like how you think, doll. Took the words right outta my mouth. Oh and by the way, we're goin' out tonight. Not to the diner, somewhere real nice. Special place for a special occasion, would ya like that?"

"I'd love that," you answer with a yawn, not ready to move yet.

"It's comin' outta your check though."

"STAN!"

"Jesus I was kiddin', calm your tits, toots. Calm your tits. I'll go get a towel."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all can definitely expect more Stan smut and Ford smut in the future, ya girl is full throttle on the Grunklefuck train!


	3. The Doppelganger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just had to go a little BDSM with this one because come on, this is Stan we're talking about

"Morning, doll," a familiar voice whispers, gently rousing you from sleep. You frown in protest as the warmth next to you shifts and climbs out of bed. Stan groans, in pain this time; stretching and hissing as various bones and ligaments shudder into wakefulness.

"Mornin'," you mumble into your (well, technically Stan's second) pillow. His warm hand comes down under the blankets to rub at your ass, inviting a pleased hum and a satiated smile from your sex-bitten lips. 

"C'mon toots, you wanna help me open up the Shack you gotta get up early," he prompts, ending the rub with a hefty smack and then shuffling off to take his morning piss. 

"Fuckkkkk," you sigh, finally sitting up and squinting at the pale light streaming in through the window. This has been your third night of experimental cohabitation with Stan, and so far it's been a promising experience. Except for the snoring. You're definitely going to have to invest in some earplugs.

Standing, you shiver in the air conditioned chill and make your way downstairs to the kitchen. Already, you've established a routine. You make the coffee, Stan cooks breakfast, etc. You're remembering the sex from last night as you walk into the kitchen only to find Stan already waiting for you.

"How the hell did you get down here so fast??" you marvel, narrowing your eyes only to see that...his hair color is darker?

He turns, staring at you in surprise and giving you a thorough once-over. Whoever this man is, he's definitely not the REAL Stan. He seems to be, dare you say it, a bit more handsome and clean-cut version of your new boyfriend. Self consciousness overwhelms you, seeing as your tits are half falling out of your night shirt, so you cross your arms and glare back. 

"Ok, what are you? Doppelgangers are NOT allowed in the house! I'll scream and Stan will kick your ass-"

"I'm Stan's twin brother, Ford," he cuts you off, nodding his head in greeting and eyeing your visible hickeys with a look of unveiled interest. "You must be a babysitter, right?" he asks, taking a bite of toast and scooting around in his chair.

"Oh....no, um, I'm Stanley's girlfriend."

"WHAT???" Ford chokes, dropping the toast and thumping his chest to avoid death by bread. Once he's coughed it back up he regards you once more, this time with a frown. "How long have you two been going steady?"

Going steady? Who even says that anymore?

"A month."

He smirks and shakes his head, retrieving his floor toast and leaning forward on his elbows while you move to the counter to start a batch of extra-strong coffee.

"A month, huh? It would be wrong of me to not warn you about my brother's reputation. He's a clueless, selfish skirt chaser, and has quite a trail of hurt women in his wake. Just don't be surprised if he cheats on you-"

"EXCUSE you!" you scoff, interrupting his clinical tone. "Our relationship isn't your fucking business!"

"And yet, I know him much better than you do," he stabs, shoving a lance of doubt right through your argument. 

You treat him to a cold shoulder and stare at the coffee as it starts to drip, jumping out of your skin when a hand comes down on your unsuspecting shoulder. 

"You're a lovely woman, truly. If Stan ever does hurt you or you want someone who'll treat you right, I'd be more than willing to show you an exquisite time."

You turn and blink at him, quickly turning red at his straightforward proposition. "I-"

Just as his hand is slipping off your shoulder, a grittier version of his voice cuts through your stuttering. "What the FUCK?"

You whirl, eyes wide and mouth agape. But thankfully Stan isn't glaring at you; he's fixing his twin with a gaze that could level a whole town. "You get away from her before I shove a cactus up your ass," he growls. "The kids AND (Y/N) are off limits to you, do you understand me?"

"Fine, but someone's gotta warn the poor woman before you shove her heart through a trash compactor," Ford sniffs, stalking out to leave the both of you to your own devices. Stan's so angry that he's shaking, teeth gritted hard enough to cause the veins of his forehead to pop out.

"That motherfucker - what did he say? Why did he touch you?" Stan demands, walking over to snatch a coffee cup out of the cabinet and slam it down onto the counter.

"N-nothing, he thought I was Mabel and Dipper's babysitter and um, well he came onto me," you whisper, cringing at your omission of the whole truth. Stan is already mad enough to do something stupid. For whatever reason his twin is here despite obvious ill-will, so you don't want to ruin any delicate balances...and potentially this new relationship. 

Stan grumbles and scoops spoon after spoon of sugar into his mug, yanking the pot out to pour his coffee. "Don't be alone with him if you can help it. He....he hates me," he reveals with a deep sigh. "I've made mistakes and he won't forgive me for them. Just...please don't trust him. Please."

Stan's eyes search yours for any clue as to what you're feeling, his own face looking scared and defeated. You lean in to plant a kiss on his chin and nuzzle up close against his chest, rubbing his strong back.

"I won't. Promise."

"Those little ASSHOLES!" Stan yells, angrily turning off the tv the instant Soos's campaign ad comes on. You cringe, nearly dropping the bowl of chips you're carrying in from the kitchen. He throws the remote across the room and you jump to avoid it, stomping over to him and plopping the bowl down into his lap.

"What's gotten INTO you? You could've broken the remote or hit me with it!" you chastise, fetching the remote from the far side of the room.

"Oh, YOU too huh? What, is this 'everyone hates stan' week?? I'm DONE!" he yells, pushing himself up out of his recliner and making his way to the bedroom. You bite your lip, genuinely worried now. You've never seen him as upset as he is now; this election seems to be stressing him out beyond levels he can handle. 

"Stan, babe," you call, poking your head around the corner. "C'mon, Baby Fights is about to come on and I wanna cuddle."

He stops, shoulders sagging. When he turns his face is dark, and he doesn't meet your eyes all the way back to his recliner. 

Something is very wrong.

"What's wrong, Stan?" you gently prod, settling in next to him and rubbing a comforting hand over his hairy chest. "It isn't healthy to be so angry all the time."

He doesn't respond except to cover your hand with his, so you drop it and lay your head on his shoulder. At least he didn't exile himself to his room. 

"Babydoll?" he starts a few minutes into the show. 

"Yeah?"

"Why do you like me?"

You smile, pulling away to look at him so you can boop his nose. But the look on his face stops you: it's immensely sad and hurt, and that look of defeat from that morning with Ford is back again.

"Oooh, that's a tough one," you tease, feigning a studious attitude as you prepare your answer. "Well, you're funny, for one. And handsome, and you're kind of a family guy but not TOO much of one, you know? And you don't go too fast or slow for me, or expect too much. Life as your girlfriend has been comfortable yet exciting, and I love that."

He looks surprised at such a long answer, giving you a small smile which quickly disappears. 

"Thanks, doll. I just......can't shake the feeling that nobody actually likes me," he confesses, no longer focusing on the tv. "Ever since Ford came back...the kids, Wendy, even SOOS like him more, and this election...my polls are terrible."

Stan's never been this vulnerable with you, and it's obvious that he's uncomfortable doing so. But at the same time, if he's actually sharing his feelings it must be REALLY bad.

"I'm sorry, Stan," you whisper, placing a tiny peck on his cheek. "What can I do to make you feel better?"

He shrugs, shaking his head and getting gruff again. "I shouldn't've dumped all that on you, I'm fine. You just keep being you."

Silence falls again, the sound of babies crying and smacking each other in the face with rattles dominating the room. But Stanley still doesn't seem focused on it, appearing to be zoning out every time you glance up at him. So you decide to take matters into your own hands, quite literally. 

Snaking your fingertips down his thigh, you tease the slit of his boxers and stick a pinky through it, glancing up at him to watch his realization. He starts, face immediately morphing into his "oh fuck yeah I'm gonna score" grin.

"Just can't resist this tomcat, huh kitten?" he chuckles, starting to get up so he can fetch his medication. But you grab his muscular arm and pull him back, sucking a mark into his neck and pushing your entire hand into his boxers. You lightly stroke his shaft, tracing a prominent vein and savoring his shuddering exhale. Once you're satisfied with the hickey you've left, you slip down until you're on your knees in front of your boyfriend. He looks confused so you reach forward to pull open his boxers and help his softie out, leaning forward to kiss it to communicate your intent.

"Uh...shouldn't I go get the-"

"You can cum without it, right?" you breathe against his warmth, beginning to massage his right hip and settle your breasts against his balls.

"Well yeah, but-"

"Then I can suck you off without it."

And with that you take him into your mouth, all the way down until your nose is buried in his musky pubes. A sharp inhale and a low curse encourage you to continue, sucking as hard as you can on the satiny, malleable dick clutched between your lips. A glance up reveals that Stan looks rather uncomfortable, his brows knit tight into a tense expression of insecurity. After all, you're drawing attention to his virility problem. And it's also the first time you've pleasured him without his reciprocation.

"Just relax, don't think about anything but this," you guide, grasping the shaft so you can focus on the head. You settle your lips behind the flare of his coronal ridge and set a deep, constant rhythm, grinding your tongue against his tip until his rich brown eyes roll back in his head and a muscle twitches in his thigh.

"Uhnnnn, babydoll," he moans, reaching down to dig his thick fingers into your hair. "You're an angel, I don't deserve you, toots."

You pull away to smack his tightening balls and he yelps. He doubles over slightly looking betrayed. "WHAT WAS THAT FOR??"

"I TOLD you I'd bust your nuts if you called yourself a loser, daddy," you remind him, reaching down to gently squeeze a fat testicle between your fingers. You gently roll it and he gasps, looking pained and pleasured at the same time. If there's one thing you love about Stan's sexuality, it's how utterly sensitive his balls are.

"Ooooh look at that, big bad muscle man whimpering just 'cuz a girl smacked his scrote," you tease, taking the neglected testicle into your other hand and massaging them both at the same time. His breath hitches and his head falls back, his mouth forming into a small "O" under your ministrations.

Then, without warning, you give two sharp squeezes.

Stan howls, yanking your hair and squeezing his thighs together, eyes watering. But he doesn't ask you to stop or smack your hands away. His thighs fall open again so you hold his penis up and deliver two more sharp smacks, feeling your pussy pulse when the abused balls pull up tight against his body.

"It's been a long time since a girl did that," he pants, letting out an urgent moan when you take him back into your mouth and grab his balls again, not-so-gently yanking on them until his thighs bear down on you.

"Aw GOD keep goin' sweetheart," he begs, pushing your head down into his pubes again so that you're deep throating his soft but eager cock. It twitches, getting a little stiffer when you up the ante. You're sucking and tugging, sucking and tugging like a starving woman that needs his cum to survive. Stan is squirming, constant swears and sobs dropping from his lips as you reawaken his sadomasochistic tendencies.

"I'm cumming!!!" he warns, trying to push you away by the forehead then quickly realizing that you WANT to swallow him. So he groans out his orgasm, bucking into your incredible suction and then almost doubling over at the sheer intensity of his peak. You keep sucking until he begs you to stop. Pulling away, you beam up at him with a wicked grin.

"Well that was fast," you snicker, crying out when he grabs you by the throat and squeezes, but not too harshly.

"You watch your fuckin' mouth or I won't go easy on you," he snarls, getting up and grabbing you by the hair. He half drags you into the bedroom and locks the door, shoving you over to the bed and crossing his arms.

"Get your dildo out," he commands.

You obey, searching for it in your duffel bag and picking up the protective storage bag. As soon as you pull it out he's right there, taking it away from you and rushing to the bathroom to rinse off the fuzzies. Then he's back and pushing you face-down on the bed. Your pants and panties are quickly discarded and flung across the room, or so you'd thought until the panties are shoved into your mouth.

"Mmf!" you giggle, wiggling against his thigh until a sharp spank punishes you. Suddenly you feel the head of the dildo at your entrance and without warning it's pushed all the way in, slamming up against your cervix. Normally he'd lube it up for you but you're already wet as hell from the intimate blowjob, and he can tell.

"Let's see if you can take what you dish out."

The pace he sets is merciless, hammering into your slick until you're screaming into the balled cloth stuffed between your teeth. You're already close from the blowjob, and Stan can sense it, so he flips you over when you're least expecting it to yank up your shirt and attack your hardened nipples. His mouth is hot and perfect, and his pace doesn't even stutter.

Then, he bites.

"MMMMMMMGGGG!" you scream into the panties, feet kicking and pussy clenching down onto the dildo. Your clench is so tight that Stan can't move the dildo for a second or two; he groans, remembering that greedy clutch bearing down on his own dick the night before. He bites you again, this time on the soft skin of your breast, determined to suck a mark into you. 

But you're so, SO close.

Daringly, you reach up to grab his hair and pull his mouth back over to your nipple, panting when he latches back on and changes the angle of the dildo. It's hitting you perfectly now, and paired with his mouth it's going to shove you over the precipice.

You glance down, Stanley's eyes locking with yours. God, you'd never noticed how thick his lashes are, and how perfectly they frame his chocolatey eyes. 

That's the last thought that rushes through your mind as you cum. 

Your back arches off the bed, belly pressing into Stan's hairy bare arm and hand clutching his grey hair in a vice grip. The pleasure washes over you in delicious pulses, spiking each time he bites down on your oversensitized nipple. Then you collapse, almost crying at the overwhelming flood of hormones and feelings for the man half-lying on top of you. He pulls away and sets the dildo on the nightstand, tugging the panties out of your mouth and laughing when you growl, tugging back with your teeth until you finally give in.

"Mmmm....I could really go for some cookies, babydoll. Tell you what, go get some and then I'll cuddle ya in the living room, how's that sound?"

"Perfect, daddy," you agree, stumbling back into your clothes on your way to the door. The afterglow fuzzies your brain while you make your way to the kitchen, eager to just go collapse back into Stan's arms. But upon entering the kitchen you freeze, Ford's hungry gaze clearly trying to pin you against the fridge for a fuck of his own. After all, your appearance is obvious: mussed and bitten up, not to mention your hair is a gnome's nest.

He doesn't say a word when you walk by him to grab the cookies, but you certainly notice the raging erection straining against his pants. He must've been here listening in the whole time, even when you were in the living room.

"Might wanna take care of that. I hear Lazy Susan puts out in the back of the diner, and she deserves a boy toy," you whisper, traipsing out of the kitchen to the living room before he can say anything in return.

"What's with the stupid grin?" Stan asks, raising a brow as you snuggle back up to him and poke a cookie against his lip.

"Oh, nothing. I'm just pretty sure your brother's about to furiously masturbate in the basement."

"HA! Nothing new then, he's such a loser."

"You masturbate pretty furiously too, though."

".....touché."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanna do another chapter where Ford actually gets involved (don't worry, Stan won't get hurt in the process ♡), and then an action-focused series based on the grunkles' adventures but idk when bc I wanna work on some other stuff too so I don't burn out on this!
> 
> Knowing me, I probably won't follow my plans tho lmao


End file.
